When I was young, I wanted to be a poet. I wrote a lot of very bad poetry during my teenage years.

It’s been a long time since I made poetry a habit. Still, I generally jot a few lines every year, and then forget about them. Sometimes — like tonight — I’ll stumble upon something I’ve written and think, “Wow. That’s actually pretty good.”

The poem I found tonight was this untitled bit, which is dated 11 September 2001:

In the twilight

the colors bleed and fade —

what once was red, or blue, or green,

is now black. Or white.

The approaching darkness

casts long shadows, cloaking

all that once danced in light,

consuming warmth, producing fright.

I like this because it works on multiple levels. Superficially, it is evocative of dusk. Symbolically, it represents the tone of that time: the aura of approaching gloom.

On the other hand, maybe it’s just as sophomoric as all the other poetry I’ve ever written…